Golden State of Mind
by shipinharbor
Summary: Clary didn't think she could hate anything more than she hated California. But when Clary's mother coerces her into visiting her in the 'Golden State' for the summer, she meets her golden-eyed neighbor who she might just hate even more. AU/AH.
1. Chapter 1

hey **there! hope you enjoy this all human AU! also, there is some California bashing in this. don't get me wrong, I live in this state and love it, but it's all for the purpose of the story. disclaimer: I own nothing.**

Chapter I.

Jail seemed like a pleasant prospect.

The flight from New York to Orange County should have been 6 hours, but it felt like forever and a crying baby shriveled the last of Clary's sanity. Babies were cute and all, but when it was one that screeched for hours thousands of feet in the air, it took all of Clary's willpower to not dropkick it off the plane. Needless to say, Clary was rather frazzled when she stepped off the plane into John Wayne Airport, carry-ons and murderous thoughts in tow.

About two weeks ago, Clary received a call from her mother at her successful art gallery in New York, telling her she had a flight booked to come visit her for the summer in California. Jocelyn Fray was a lot of things - artistic, patient, genuine, but most of all, stubborn. Despite Clary's every excuse and plea, her mother never took no for an answer, and Clary knew she was a goner the minute Jocelyn's sharp voice cut through the static.

So that was how Clary found herself hauling her luggage out of the airport and onto the streets of one of her least favorite places in the world. She never really understood why she hated California; it wasn't as if she'd had a bad experience with the state, but even from a young age, Clary felt that it was much too overrated and glamorous for her liking. What kind of state dubbed itself the 'Golden State'? California seemed like a postcard, with countless beaches and blue skies; but for an artist as herself, Clary's heartstrings tugged for flaws. Her mother, of course, did not feel the same when she and her fiancée Luke packed their things and moved to the West Coast.

Amidst her ranting about California, Clary realized she was car-less and hadn't contacted anyone to come pick her up. She grasped aimlessly in her bag until her fingers found purchase on the small cellular device. After a few buzzes, Jocelyn's mellifluous voice rang from the other end.

"Hey there...Mom," Clary started.

"Need a ride, I presume? Don't worry, I've sent our neighbor Jace to come pick you up."

"Alright, thanks for the heads-up," Clary responded before ending the call.

Sure, she was thrilled to get off the street, but the idea of hitching a ride with a complete stranger in SoCal traffic wasn't exactly a fantasy. Soon enough, a sleek black sedan pulled up to the curb by where she was sitting. One of the windows rolled down to reveal sunglasses and a mop of blonde hair.

"Oi, Strawberry Shortcake! Is your name Clary?" called out a husky voice that most definitely would have turned Clary on had she not just been referred to as a children's animated character.

At this point, Clary was triggered. She'd endured a torturous flight, arrived in Hell, and dubbed a stupid nickname by her stupid chaffeur. Throwing all caution to the wind, she hauled her luggage over to the sedan, chucked it in the back, then threw herself into the passenger seat.

Yes, she was being dramatic. Yes, she had every right to.

Clearly her tantrum invoked some astonishment from Goldilocks, because he had now taken off his sunglasses and was staring at her. So, Clary turned to face him and her mind went blank.

He was one fine human being. Actually, he didn't even look human. He was literally Adonis, with chiseled features and golden eyes and perfect lips pulled into a smirk. Clary almost forgot why she was so upset until -

"Are you blushing, or are your cheeks just as freakishly red as your hair?"

 _What the fuck?_

"Listen up, asshat. I've had a really shitty day and if you want to be another shitty thing on the list, then that's fine. But right now, you're gonna shut your entitled ass up and drive me home, got it?" hissed a very angry Clary.

She didn't usually curse. But when it came to blonde heathens with a superiority complex, she had all the eloquence of a sailor. Instead of waiting for the heated response she was bound to receive, she was greeted with a throaty laugh.

"Alright Red Velvet. Let's get you home," was the last thing she heard before the engine revved and they sped away.

* * *

The rest of the ride home was uneventful. It lasted roughly twenty minutes, and the roads were blessed with minimal traffic. Finally, they arrived at Laguna Beach, the city that Jocelyn had established as her new home. She had done her research before moving, and Laguna Beach was known for its beautiful views and artistic community. After some driving around, they reached a lovely little residence with a seashell gray and white color scheme nearly two houses from the beach.

She turned to face Blondie. What did her mom say his name was? James? Jake? But before she could open her mouth, he faced her and announced, "Welcome home, Chucky. Now you can stop staring at me and exit the vehicle."

Clary sputtered for a bit. Who did hot-shot Ken think he was, dubbing her derogatory names and acting like a little shit? She didn't even want to come to this city in the first place and now that she did, she had to deal with pissy neighbors? _I am so done_ , she thought to herself as she got out and grabbed her things. So when she passed by his open window, she made sure to duck (only a little, thanks to her lack of height) and give him her most charismatic smile. He smirked in response.

But then she hissed, "Get your head out of your ass," and went up the lawn.

* * *

"Mom? I'm here," called Clary as she closed the front door.

"Clary, is that you?" answered Jocelyn, followed by muffled footsteps down the stairs.

Clary rolled her eyes. "The only other person who would call you 'Mom' doesn't have this feminine of a voice,' she said, referring to her older brother Jonathan.

Jocelyn's porcelain face came into view as she reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Always witty, aren't you?" her mother teased as she embraced Clary and led her into the living room. Clary smiled at the decorations. Her mother was never an extravagant woman, despite possessing the money to be one. She opted out of luxury and expense and found solace in comfort and positivity, and her furnishings were no exception. The living room had blue couches adorn with bright yellow and green pillows and both Clary and Jocelyn's paintings littered the walls. Oddly shaped vases filled the corners and unique patterned rugs contrasted with the hardwood floor. Clary plopped down on one of the couches while her mother brought her a glass of water.

The two caught up, discussing the gallery and good local cuisine and Clary's living arrangements. Clary would be staying in the guest room, which thankfully was on the second story and the polar opposite side of the house from Luke and Jocelyn's master bedroom, which was on the first floor. After she talked about the flight, Jocelyn grinned mischievously.

"So what did you think of our neighbor Jace?" she inquired.

Clary choked on her water and Jocelyn's eyebrows shot up.

"God, he was an a...bsolute piece of work," Clary muttered, correcting her language in front of her mother. "I don't think I've ever met someone so entitled, and I was best friends with Isabelle Lightwood."

Her mother laughed. "Speaking of Lightwood, did you know their family has a villa nearby? It's one of the reasons I chose this location, and I think Isabelle is staying there for a while."

Clary smiled to herself. At least something good came out of this trip.

* * *

It wasn't too long after Clary settled in that Isabelle called her up, somehow knowing her exact location. Since it was evening and Clary was incredibly jetlagged, they decided on coffee at a little café down the street in the morning. Once she hung up, Clary tossed the phone beside her on the bed and stood up. As she was about to close her window, she realized she had a perfect view through the next door neighbor's window. Just then, the door of the neighbor's bedroom swung open and in walked the blonde bane of her existence, with another blonde (female) in tow. The girl wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him eagerly before stepping back and removing her shirt.

Clary groaned and grasped the curtain to close it so she wouldn't have to witness a porno. But as she looked up one last time, she was met with Jace staring right at her. After an intense beat, she narrowed her eyes and yanked the curtain closed to let him finish his fun. Collapsing on her bed, there was only one resounding thought in her mind.

This summer was going to be the death of her.


	2. Chapter 2

**chapter 2! I find long ANs unnecessary. disclaimer: shockingly, I still own nothing.**

Chapter II.

It was a weird surprise not waking up to the smell of vehicular exhaust.

The air that filled Clary's lungs was cleaner and slightly saltier. It was almost refreshing, but Clary would rather be caught dead than complimenting California's fragrant air. As she rolled out of bed, she pulled open the curtains. But then she looked out the window, saw the other window, remembered last night, and then closed it. She'd rather not risk her oh-so-friendly neighbor seeing her without a shirt on. Although, had he been friendly, she probably wouldn't have minded _that much_.

Actually, no. It would still be mortifying.

She shook her head clear of thoughts and walked over to the closet. Some of the clothes she brought were strewn about, half-folded or precariously dangling off a hanger. The rest were still in her suitcases. Miffling through her suitcase, Clary found a crochet top with thin straps and jean shorts. She grabbed the clothes, went into the bathroom, and emerged twenty minutes later, ready for the day. Considering the fact that the person she was meeting was Isabelle, she wasn't really in the mood to get bugged about her lack of effort toward her appearance; so she tamed her hair into waves and applied minimal makeup.

Clary headed down the stairs, noting her mom and Luke already left for the gallery, and the keys to the dark green Jeep were left on the counter for Clary. She snatched them and a pair of aviators, grabbed her satchel, and was out of the house.

Laguna Beach was peaceful. Sure, it had its waves of traffic and a shortage of parking spots on the beach, but compared to the buzz of New York, Laguna Beach was peaceful. It was one of the things Clary loved most about New York - it never slept. If you looked out the window at three in the morning, there were lights on and strangers fluctuating through the streets. Her heartstrings tugged for home as she navigated through the coastal roads.

Finally, Clary arrived at Urth Caffé, a neat little café that Isabelle seemed to favor. Walking in, she looked to her right and saw a sleek, black ponytail before breaking out into a smile. The ponytail whipped up to reveal the flawless face of Isabelle Lightwood, who gave a Cheshire grin and sprung to her feet to give Clary a hug. Even without the five-inch lace-up wedges she was wearing, Isabelle would tower over her.

"I ordered you a cappuccino and a chocolate croissant. Your favorites," Isabelle winked as she broke their embrace and adjusted her off-shoulder romper.

"You know me better than anyone, Is," Clary beamed, taking a seat.

Isabelle, being the usual snooper she was, cut to the chase. "Any hunks in New York I should know about?"

"My God, Is, it's been like 45 seconds. At least ask how I'm doing," Clary teased. "And in response, none."

Isabelle rolled her eyes. "It's not my fault I'm dying to hear about drama in your boring life. The only _wood_ you get these days are your special-ordered bamboo paint brushes in the mail."

Clary snorted. "I'm just not looking for anything now. I could probably get myself a guy if I wanted."

"No balls, you won't."

" _Isabelle_."

"Hmm?" Is batted her eyelashes innocently.

"I totally have the balls to pursue a man," Clary pressed.

"Whatever floats your boat."

Clary was about to retort but was cut off by the arrival of her cappuccino and croissant, along with Isabelle's dark chocolate mocha. Clary eagerly grabbed her cappuccino (she hadn't had caffeine since New York, and airplane coffee was absolute shit), raising it to her lips and forgetting about, you know, temperature.

" _Jesus_ ," Clary cried, burning the roof of her mouth.

"Not quite, but close enough," came a familiar drawl.

 _It's too early for this_ , Clary thought to herself.

"Morning, Is," Jace said to Isabelle. She stuck her tongue out at him.

 _Wait, what?_

"Isabelle," Clary spoke, flabbergasted. "You know this Neanderthal?"

Isabelle seemed rather surprised at Clary's instant hostility.

Jace chuckled. "She practically grew up with me. Old family friends."

"I asked Isabelle, not you," she growled.

"Hey now, Ginger. Don't turn away the only shred of acknowledgement you'll ever get from a guy."

"Drop dead, asswipe," Clary deadpanned.

Isabelle grew more bewildered by the minute. She looked back and forth between the two, eyes wide and mouth ajar.

"You first."

"Oh, but-"

"Enough," Is finally said. "Clary, shut up and drink your cappuccino before it gets cold. Jace, go order your coffee."

Jace smirked. "I wouldn't be too concerned with her drink getting cold. Lucky Charms over here needs to cool off anyways."

"Now."

Clary rolled her eyes and threw seven dollars on the table. "Thanks, Is, but I should be getting going. Hard to breathe with the smell of vermin in the air."

She grabbed her purse and her half-empty cappuccino and walked over to Jace.

"This should clean it up," she smiled sardonically, before dumping it on him and leaving.

* * *

When Clary was feeling particularly angered toward someone, she would imagine their face on a dartboard and her hitting bullseye.

She did it with Camille Belcourt in the fourth grade when she made a snide comment about Clary's hair. She did it with Jonathon when he trashed her brand new canvases with his friends. She did it with Simon when he beat her high score in COD.

But right now, bullseyes wouldn't cut it.

She imagined dumping gasoline on Jace's face dartboard and lighting it on fire. Then tossing the remains in cyanide.

Clary always tried to be a moral person. Her mother was patient with everyone, and Clary tried to be too. Clary tried to give everyone the benefit of the doubt.

She tried.

Clary stopped furiously pacing around the room and decided she needed to cool off. She went through her suitcase again and found a black bikini. She changed into it, threw her clothes on, and grabbed whatever else she'd need for the beach. Leaving the house, it took her about 30 seconds to reach the beach.

Throwing her towel down in a deserted location, Clary laid down to soak in the sun and plugged in her headphones.

 _Don't give in to what they say_

 _They can't understand it at all_

 _It ain't yours to give away_

 _And it's not theirs to take_

 _I don't care what they say_

 _It's just the only place_

 _Where I feel everything_

Clary relaxed until she felt the sun go away in an instant. Curious, she looked up to see a person blocking her sun.

An attractive person. Clary sat up.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to disrupt you, but you look really familiar," the stranger said politely.

Clary tried to see any sign of familiarity, but the cute guy with black hair and eyes didn't ring a bell. She sat, pondering until-

"Did you pour coffee down some guy's shirt this morning at Urth?"

Clary blanched. "Uh, well, er...funny story?"

The guy laughed amicably. "That's where I know you from. No worries, though. I bet he deserved it."

Clary grinned in response, removing her sunglasses. "He was a douche."

"I can't imagine why anyone would be a douche to someone like you. I'm Sebastian, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Sebastian. I'm Clary. Are you a local or a tourist?" she inquired.

"Local. I know you're not from here, because I definitely would have asked you out months ago," Sebastian teased.

Clary flushed, not sure how to handle a comment like that from a cute guy. "Thanks, I think?"

"Anytime. But now that you're here, I'm gonna try and get your number. I'd hate myself forever if I didn't," he laughed.

Smiling, Clary grabbed a pen from her purse and wrote her number on his wrist. "Here."

The guy beamed at her before standing up. "A pleasure meeting you, Clary."

"Likewise," she replied before he walked away.

Clary lied down again with a triumphant smile.

 _Take that, Jace._


	3. Chapter 3

**i'm back from the dead! went on a total fanfiction hiatus but it's the holidays now! surprise! no one cares hahaha but new chapter!**

 **disclaimer: i don't own a thing please don't sue me**

Chapter III.

Really, Clary should have known better.

All those years she rarely visited the beach were for a good reason. Her fair skin was far too delicate for the vicious wrath of the sun. She should have known. Now, she had to pay the price.

Her ass was burnt.

Not slight pinkish twinge, but full-on, a-skin-doctor-might-cry burnt.

And her jean shorts rubbing against the scorched flesh didn't help. She winced during every step on the walk home. She shed a lone tear as she made her way through her front door. She practically sobbed as she hauled herself up the stairs and into her bathroom.

California was a _bitch_.

Her inner ranting about the stupid California sun was cut short by a small ding. It was an unknown number.

 _Hey, it's Sebastian. Guy from the beach. You free tonight?_

She swiftly typed a response. _Pretty sure._

 _I know a great restaurant by the beach. Can I take you?_ , read his message thirty seconds later.

She texted him an agreement and her address, and he told her he'd pick her up at 7. She checked and saw that it was only 2.

Clary rummaged through her drawer and found the holy grail.

Aloe vera.

She dumped a generous amount into her hands and applied it to her rear. Seconds later, the cool, tingly sensation made her sigh. Like an addict to a drug, she kept layering the stuff on and rubbing it in. But since fate would never let her live in peace, the bathroom door busted open.

There stood Isabelle, mouth open and ready to rant. But then she noticed Clary bent over with her ass in her hands and didn't really say anything. Clary probably should have moved or gestured to the burn, but she just kind of stood there silent instead. Neither broke eye contact. Neither said a word. A rush of words and explanations were on the tip of her tongue, but instead-

"My ass feels like a toaster strudel."

Isabelle's body wracked with laughter as she leaned against the doorframe. Clary began laughing too. It felt like old times, when they were younger and free of responsibilities and glued at the hip. She sat up on the bathroom counter as Isabelle shimmed down the wall and to the floor. The laughter had died down, but they still wore grins.

"What was with you and Jace this morning?," the dark-haired girl inquired.

Clary let out a breath and rolled her eyes. "He's my neighbor. Jocelyn had him pick we up from the airport and he was a dick right off the bat." She paused. "Besides, shouldn't I ask you the same thing?"

"He's practically family. Years ago, Mom and Dad noticed that he didn't really have anyone and treated him like a son," Isabelle said with a shrug. "And honestly, Jace is kind of always an asshole. It's part of his charm."

"Yeah, those derogatory nicknames charmed the pants right off me," Clary muttered. "Also, he implied I could never get attention from guys. Well, guess what? I just got asked out on a date, asshat!"

Isabelle looked up with wide eyes and Clary realized her mistake immediately.

"You, Clary Fray, were asked out on a date today?" Isabelle gasped, a terrifying smile spreading across her face.

Clary gulped. _No, not this._ _Anything but this._ "Er, yeah, we're going to a restaurant tonight at 7," she explained, digging herself into a deeper hole.

Isabelle was quiet. Too quiet. But then she dashed toward Clary's room and began tearing through her suitcase and closet. It was an awful sight. She lifted dresses and blouses and tossed them in frustration. Finally, she pulled out a flowy white sundress with thin straps and held it out to the redhead. Clary groaned and changed into it before being ushered into the bathroom by Isabelle.

An hour later, she looked into the mirror at an angelic version of herself. Her hair was straightened, but had a slight curl to it. Her make-up was delicate and tasteful. Her feet were in a pair of brown woven flip-flops and her ankles wrapped with colorful anklets. She smiled at Isabelle, who was admiring her handiwork.

"Iz, this is beautiful and all, but you do realize it's only four-fucking-thirty."

"Oops," said Isabelle nonchalantly.

The two headed down the stairs, before plopping on the couch and watching a movie to kill the time. Eventually, the daylight dimmed and the clock read 6:50. Isabelle gave Clary a hug, snapped a picture of her, and left to head home. A few short minutes later, the doorbell rang. She opened it and saw Sebastian on the other side, looking handsome in a simple white shirt and khakis.

"You look beautiful," he complimented with a wide smile.

Clary flushed. "Thanks, you too," she said before paling at her error.

He laughed and responded, "Must be my make-up." Clary grinned at his lightness.

They drove to a restaurant called Las Brisas. It was decorated with brick and blue and white tile. They were seated outside, the warm weather and melodical ocean creating a lovely atmosphere.

Sebastian was really polite. He asked her questions about her life, and she told him about art gallery back in New York and her life back there. He told her he'd spent several summers in Paris, but decided to stay local for this one.

"You have no idea how glad I am that I stayed. Because now, I got to meet you," he flirted with a wink.

She smiled shyly, unsure what to do or say next, so she raised her glass and said, "To Laguna Beach...", knowing very well she hated the damn place.

He met her glass with his and murmured with an eager smile, "To Laguna Beach."

About two hours of conversation and quality food later, Sebastian was walking Clary to her front door. He had his hand on the small of her back, slightly too heavy and hot against her skin. She brushed it off and turned to face him.

"I had a great time, thank you Sebastian," she told him.

His dark eyes scanned her face before lighting up. "Really, I should be the one thanking you."

She laughed and then his arms were around her.

 _It's a nice gesture_ , she told herself. _Not claustrophobic at all..._

But then he was leaning in with obvious intentions and she turned ever so slightly to the side. Thankfully, he took the hint and softly kissed her on the cheek instead of his original goal. Clary let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Or why.

He bid her a goodnight and returned to his car before driving off into the night, leaving Clary on her front porch.

Sighing, she sat on one of the steps of her front walkway.

"You curved Seb. Nice," said a very attractive voice that Clary did not want to hear.

"No, I didn't. Fuck off," she grumbled.

"Uh, yeah you did. The whole 'turn to the side' thing was a definite curve," argued Jace as he sat down next to her. "Why'd you do it?"

"Please fuck off," she whined, her face in her hands.

"You really hate me, don't you?" he said quietly, surprising her and causing her to look at him. The moonlight cast a soft, hazy glow over his golden locks and eyes and made him look ethereal. As much as she despised him, she couldn't believe the beauty of the boy before her.

"I'd probably think otherwise if you weren't so rude," she muttered.

He shrugged. "Probably."

They sat there in a silence that spoke volumes. No comments, no quips.

"It's a good thing you curved Seb." Jace's long, skillful fingers wrapped around her forearm. He stared at her. The simple contact created the oddest sensation. "You deserve better."

Then him and his hand were gone, leaving Clary alone in the dark and more confused than ever. Worse enough, there was a tingling, yet satisfying sensation on the very spot he'd touched her - a stark contrast to the burdening touch of Sebastian.

She finally mustered the steadiness to head inside, her mind still deciphering the blonde enigma that lived ten feet away.

 **okay so some clace in there. not really sure what's gonna happen next chapter. we'll see. review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**hi guys! happy new year! let's hope 2018 won't be a shitstorm, yeah? disclaimer: nope. still don't own anything. surprise**

Chapter IV.

 _The road to hell is paved with good intentions._

Clary remembered a lecture where her history professor discussed the popular quote and its ambiguous origins. Since that lecture, she often thought about the proverb - that those who ended up there had good deeds in mind, but never acted upon them.

To be frank, she did have good intentions. She wanted to be a pleasant, easygoing neighbor. Likable and respectful.

But for the umpteenth time that night, a loud moan emerged from a house with a window very close to hers. Undoubtedly, they were the result of the blonde occupant and another one off of his string of lovers. The first time, she pretended to ignore it. Several times after, she shut her eyes and covered her ears with the pillow. But after nearly thirty minutes, she was livid. The stalemate established by their encounter a couple nights ago was now over. Seriously, how long did a romp in the sack take? How much noise could one make?

Finally, she stood up and opened her window, debating whether to give them a piece of her mind or throw something at the opposing window. However, she noticed that in order have something hit his window, it would have to be closed. The bloody fucking window was open.

"Dear God, are you fucking a choir or something? Lighten up on the noise!" Clary finally yelled. A grinning, fully-clothed Jace stuck his head out of his window.

 _Fully-clothed._

"Thirty blasted minutes. That's how long it took you to say something?" He chuckled, leaving Clary very confused.

She looked closer into his bedroom and noticed he was alone in the room, an open book the only thing on the bed.

"Did you fake moan for the last thirty minutes _just_ to annoy me?" she asked in disbelief.

"Yep," he answered, popping the 'p'.

Clary's eye twitched. She felt pure fury, but also a twinge of relief that he really wasn't pounding a girl into utter oblivion. She didn't know why she felt relieved at that, but she shook off her intrusive thoughts and focused on her anger.

"What are you, twelve? Can you please just let me sleep, for the love of God?" she rubbed her eyes in frustration.

He grinned again. "Anything for you, _sweetheart_."

Attempting to slaughter the butterflies that arose at his pet name, she rolled her eyes and closed the window before sauntering back to bed. She felt her eyelids grow heavy and the lull of sleep begin to wash over her when a single, horrendously loud moan broke the night. Her eyes flew open and the anger she'd tried to subdue for the sake of civility was resurrected.

Because with a neighbor like that, civility was a lost cause. This was war.

(She tried not to think about what an attractive sound it really was.)

* * *

The next morning, Jocelyn set a plate of pancakes in front of Clary's face as she sat on one of the wooden stools. To her left, Luke was already halfway through his stack. The two were utterly oblivious to the incessant noise last night, seeing as their room was on the polar opposite side of the house - a luxury Clary wished she could have.

She devoured her pancakes as if they were a fluffy antidote for her troubles. Jocelyn raised an eyebrow at her daughter. Clary shrugged defensively.

"Have you caught up with Isabelle lately?" her mother asked as she grabbed Clary's (now empty) plate and washed it.

Clary nodded. "We went out to coffee last week and she's been over several times while you weren't home. You guys have been at the gallery a lot," she noted.

"We have our art exhibition coming up. It's going to be a very nice event - black tie, gala-type," Luke explained. Jocelyn made a noise of agreement.

"It's this Saturday night. Perhaps you and Isabelle could go dress shopping? The Lightwoods will be attending, of course," her mother suggested.

Clary internally groaned. Dress shopping with Isabelle was like taking a child to a toy store. She could never make up her mind and took forever. But not wanting to spoil Jocelyn and Luke's big night, she nodded dutifully.

"Can't wait," she added before heading up the stairs. Checking her phone, there was a message from Isabelle.

 _Dress shopping for art gala in an hour. I'll pick you up._

Clary died a little inside.

* * *

"God, what am I? A fucking pilgrim?" growled Isabelle as she nearly tore off a chocolate-colored dress with folded lapels over the neckline.

Although Isabelle was overdramatic about most of the dresses she'd tried on, Clary had to admit this one looked like it belonged on the _Mayflower_ rather than in one of the high-end boutiques in Laguna Beach. Isabelle thrust a pale blue dress at Clary before grabbing a purple one for herself. Clary changed into it and felt mediocre at best. The halter-neckline looked weird and the periwinkle clashed with her red locks and fair skin.

Isabelle, however, shrieked and ran out with her dress on. Instantly, Clary knew why. The gown she wore was a mix of dark and light purple hues and had a single sleeve. The material was light and flowy, but the dress was form-fitting. She looked like a goddess.

Clary smiled. "It's beautiful, Iz."

The redhead grabbed the next dress and pulled it on. It was long and sleek and black and hugged her body like a glove. The straps were thin and the neckline plunged, accenting her small curves.

Isabelle peeked over. "You look incredible in that," said the dark-haired girl.

Clary shrugged. "I dunno, it's a little more on the scandalous side..."

"Who cares? It's practically your exhibition, so you need to stand out," tutted Isabelle.

Once they'd changed, they purchased the dresses and carried the boxes out the door. Isabelle turned her head to Clary.

"How about coffee?" she suggested. Clary nodded and put their dresses in the trunk.

A short drive later, they arrived at the same café they'd been at the week prior. The duo walked in and ordered their drinks before taking a seat.

They talked about Alec, Isabelle's brother, and his boyfriend, Magnus.

"I think Magnus is gonna propose!" Isabelle added animatedly. Clary grinned in response. She'd known Alec as long as she'd known Iz, and she knew he'd never been as happy as he was with Magnus. They were practically made for each other.

Their conversation was cut short when a familiar figure entered the coffee shop. After he ordered, he noticed Clary and Isabelle and walked over.

"Hey Sebastian," greeted Clary. Isabelle waved and introduced herself.

"What are your plans this weekend?" the dark-haired boy inquired.

"My mom and step-dad are having an art exhibition," Clary answered, shyly smiling until Isabelle nailed her in the shin with her foot. "Wanna be my date?" she offered, understanding Isabelle's motives for kicking her.

He nodded and smiled brightly. "Sounds great, I'll text you," he said, noticing his name had been called. "I've got to run. Nice seeing you both," he bid them farewell and left.

Clary whipped her head to face Isabelle. "My skin is fragile. I'm going to have the absolute worst bruise because of your demonic shoes," she hissed. Isabelle laughed.

"So what? You didn't have the balls to invite him; I just helped you grow a pair," she said smugly.

The two paid and left the café, realizing the sun had begun to go down. Clary had to admit, the sunsets were probably the only good thing about this state. There was always a variety of colors across the sky and sea; it made her want to paint every time she saw one.

But in her opinion, the most beautiful part was the golden glow that briefly settled upon everything.

It bewildered her to think of just how much she'd thought of the color lately.

 **not too much happening here, with the exception of the clary and jace interaction and the introduction of the gala. next chapter will be the gala, woohoo. review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**hey everyone, so sorry about the wait. the start of the semester was really crazy. disclaimer: do you really think i own anything? really?**

Chapter V.

As far as Clary was concerned, Isabelle's rendezvous with the male species began circa sixth grade.

She'd kissed Jordan Kyle behind the swing set and it had been the biggest scandal ever. From there, she'd exponentially progressed. At their freshman year back-to-school dance, Isabelle was the first to start gyrating and grinding on their male peers. Throughout sophomore and junior year, she fluctuated between a multitude of boyfriends, frequently making out with them behind lockers and in supply closets. And at their senior prom, Clary herself had walked in on Raphael Santiago's head underneath the dark-haired girl's tulle skirt. Instead of expressing, you know, shame or embarrassment, Isabelle smiled at her and asked if she could get her a glass of punch, because she was starting to get thirsty. College was a whole other story, mostly Isabelle getting shit-faced during frat parties and winding up in random beds.

Clary was left wondering just how many people Is had fooled around with once again as her friend got a random brunette boy's number. She walked back and sat by Clary. The two were at their third and final appointment, each one scheduled by Isabelle for the exhibition later that night.

"What is that, your thirteenth number today?" Clary asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Fourteenth, but who's counting?" Isabelle said, a hint of smugness in her tone.

Clary laughed. "You really are too forward for your own good."

A woman and a man with very familiar taste in clothing walked over to the girls' seats. When she saw the man's face, Clary shrieked in delight.

"Magnus!"

"Biscuit!"

The eccentric Asian man embraced her, leaving a trace of glitter on her shirt.

"You'll be at the gala tonight, right?" she asked.

He gave a cat-like grin. "Wouldn't miss it for the world!"

Then he pushed her into her seat and began working on her hair and makeup. He styled her bright red mane into glossy, Hollywood curls and painted her face, but not excessively. She never thought she'd look so stunning in her life. Her now-smoky green eyes flitted over to Isabelle, who sported a textured high ponytail that would look wonderful with her dress and a face full of dark and gold makeup. They grinned at each other.

"Fray, you must be fresh out of the oven, because you are _hot_!" Magnus squealed, admiring his own handiwork.

"Thank you, Bane. This looks remarkable," said Clary, gesturing to her hair and makeup before hugging him. "See you tonight!"

Then the two girls stumbled out onto the small street with big plans in mind.

* * *

"Clary, we'll meet you there!" called out Jocelyn from downstairs as she closed the garage door.

Clary sighed. There wasn't anything keeping her from going to the art show. Her hair was done, makeup intact, dress on; she was completely ready. It wasn''t that she didn't want to support Jocelyn and Luke - she really did, but she just didn't have the energy to. She missed her gallery back home. She missed the buzz of energy stories below her floor. She missed the New York philanthropic clientele that always came seeking new art for their penthouses. She missed Simon. She missed greasy Chinese take-out, compared to the stupid, healthy açaí bowls the people here seemed to obsess over.

She missed home.

Placing her gloomy thoughts in the back of her mind, she stood up and smoothed her long black dress. She felt like a smoldering, red-haired vixen, which made her laugh since it was extremely atypical for her. She grabbed the keys and took the silver sedan instead of the Jeep, not wanted to get obliterated by the rushing wind. In fifteen minutes, she'd reached the gallery, that was well-placed by the beach. Clary noticed how popular art galleries were around here, and remembered the residents of this beach were extremely wealthy and scoured every source of good art for their homes.

"Clary!" greeted her mother as she walked in. A large amount of people had already shown up, despite the event starting less than ten minutes ago. Clary grabbed a flute of champagne and turned to see a clan of extremely good-looking, dark-haired members enter.

The Lightwoods. Isabelle smiled and hugged Jocelyn and Luke. Alec and Magnus had their hands entwined and contrasted each other perfectly. Maryse and Robert, ever the epitome of class, greeted Jocelyn and Luke and began inquiring them about the art.

Isabelle walked over to Clary, looking like exotic royalty. "Mom's been giving me a headache for the past hour," she muttered, rolling her eyes, before brightening up. "You look so amazing though."

"You too, Iz," she responded warmly, looking over her shoulder to see the gallery packed with lavishly-dressed men and women.

Isabelle's eyes widened at the glass of champagne in Clary's hand. " _Where_ did you get that?"

Clary gestured to one of the servers walking about and grinned when Isabelle made a beeline for their alcohol. Her friend was soon distracted by Helen Blackthorn and Aline Penhallow. Over their heads, she saw a familiar blonde walk in.

 _Damn_ , she thought to herself as she saw Jace looking god-like in a specially-tailored tux. She bit her lip and pushed away all of the _Fifty Shades of Grey_ -type things she wanted to do with that tie as he approached her. His eyes darkened as he looked her up and down and he muttered several curses under his breath. She mentally thanked Isabelle for pushing her to get this dress.

"Impressive, Red," he breathed, extremely close to her now.

Clary chastised her traitorous heartbeat and flushing cheeks. "I could say the same, Blondie," she murmured, looking up at him from under painted lashes. She felt an inexplicable gravitation toward him - an overwhelming desire to be enveloped in his presence.

Whatever moment that was occurring between the two was instantly shattered by the entrance of a tall, dark-haired man: Sebastian.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck_ , Clary mentally swore. How could she forget?

He approached Clary with a smile. "Clary, hi. I dropped by your house and sent you a text."

"Oh...my parents wanted me here early. I would've sent you a text, but, uh, my phone died," Clary lied through her teeth. Jace raised an eyebrow, obviously not buying it.

Sebastian, however, grinned good-naturedly. "When you're as beautiful as you are, it's perfectly okay to make mistakes."

Clary smiled at the compliment, but it felt forced and she was a little ticked at the condescending remark. Pressing her tongue to the roof of her mouth to avoid saying something snarky, she took the arm Sebastian offered and was soon being led away. She turned to look back at Jace, who had a hard look in his eyes directed toward the dark-haired man. His eyes switched to her now, softening when meeting her own. She blinked at him slowly and turned away, skin flushing. But before her back was completely turned, she thought she saw his lips lift into a smile.

* * *

An hour and far too much polite chit-chat later, Clary felt utterly suffocated. She excused herself from Sebastian's grasp, which had now moved from an extended elbow to a grip on her waist. His always-touching hand provided too much heat and his warm breath on her neck made her sweat rather unpleasantly. She dodged inquisitive locals and family friends and found a door in the back of the gallery. She pushed it open and emerged onto a wooden deck built on the sand. Kicking off her heels and hiking up her dress, she stepped off the porch and trekked across the sand to the water. The beach was empty at this time of night, save for the crashing waves.

It was the first time she'd felt at peace since she'd arrived in California.

She hadn't been to the beach a lot before, growing up in the heart of a metal city with a constantly-working mother, but the memories she had of those few trips were pleasant ones. An eight-year-old Clary building a sandcastle while Jocelyn smiled radiantly in a wide-brimmed hat. Thirteen-year-old Clary running and crashing against the small waves, with Simon in tow. Sixteen-year-old Clary desperately trying to get a tan, but laughing at her failure when she turned pink from burning instead. Counting all the freckles that appeared after a day full of sun. Collecting sand dollars and odd seashells.

A fully-grown Clary now smiled at the memories, no longer desiring to run around and play among the waves, but rather enjoy the tranquility of their presence.

The beaches were probably the only good thing about California. It was the only thing that enticed her into coming, besides seeing her mother and step-father.

"I hope you're not considering throwing yourself into the sea to end your misery. Then again, after an earful of Sebastian's 'legitimate' surfing career, I would too," interrupted a voice over from the deck.

Clary laughed, the first genuine one all night as she looked at Jace.

"I think I actually will if I hear about the benefits of his preferred band of board wax one more time," she answered.

Jace laughed too, a quiet but wonderful sound, and Clary found herself wishing to hear it more often.

"You have a nice laugh," she blurted before flushing and mentally cursing at her total lack of boundaries.

Jace stopped laughing and just stared at her for a moment. There was something indecipherable in his expression, something that turned her bones to liquid and made her stop scolding herself. The way he was looking at her made her not regret what she said.

"I like yours better," he finally said.

She felt warm all over, but not an embarrassed, oh-no-it's-a-compliment sort of way. It was more of a genuine appreciation for what he said. No one had ever really said anything about her laugh. Her hair, sure. Eyes? Occasionally.

He spoke again. "I never got the chance to tell you how remarkable you look," he murmured, the words sending a thrill of adrenaline throughout her body. This reaction was so different than the one she had to Sebastian's compliment. "The greatest masterpiece in a room of art."

She bit her lip at the magnitude of his words. There was no way this was the same jackass that she'd dumped coffee on or that insulted her hair color at every given opportunity. This charming, seductive (although he always was) Jace was a whole other beast. Much more frightening.

"I bet you say that to all the notches in your bedposts," she whispered, her tone light but connotation sharp. She knew the thread he was spinning.

But instead of the cheeky response or smug smirk she was expecting, she got a cold look instead. Jace took a step back from her, his golden eyes that had been swirling with emotion were now vacant, hard.

"You have no right to act like you know me," he spat. Her eyebrows shot up.

"I live almost ten feet from you! You really think I'm blind to your string of _lovers_?"

"Oh, sure, because you're so high and mighty, aren't you?"

"I'd rather have a stick up my ass than be an asshole."

"You're an asshole regardless for jumping to conclusions about people you don't know."

Honestly, Jace was a difficult person to argue with. He really had the whole stoic thing down, whereas Clary bordered on hysterical and sounded more like a frantic mother at a supermarket.

"You know what? I haven't jumped to any conclusions. In fact, I can't even figure you out! Are you the nice, genuinely human Jace that you seem to be to everyone else? Or the Jace with a stupid ego complex and a dick he can't keep in his pants!"

Oh, she broke him. His face was turning red, jaw clenched, eyes darkening. In a predatory manner, he drew closer until Clary was holding her breath and trying to fight the thrills running through her body.

Because if she thought charismatic Jace was a struggle for her, this was even worse. This Jace, that she caught a glimpse of at the opening of the gala, the one that made her thighs clench and heart race and adrenaline flow, would be the death of her.

She tried to mentally reason with herself, like, should she be mildly concerned? Should she probably give a fuming (albeit very, very sexy) Jace some space? She knew Jace wouldn't hurt her, but she was more scared at her inexplicable urge to jump his bones and her steadily declining willpower. And considering the things she just said, probably not a good idea to plant one on him. Actually, a terrible idea.

But before she could either salvage or destroy her dignity, the back door of the gallery swung open, and any words Clary had a fighting chance of saying died in her throat.

"Clary?"

Because there, in the doorway, stood the person she'd never in a million years expect to see here.

Simon.


End file.
